Tell ya what I want, what I really really want!

Just recently I tried something different, something totally unlike my usual good-self, I went to church. Now the church I went to was a 12th century affair with its beautiful stone work, solid oak doors and vaulted ceilings, there is even a hole in the door where a cannonball had been shot through during the civil war! Even small towns in Britain like Highworth, are steeped in history, all of which fascinates me.

People go to church as they want to get in contact with god, even myself, as an Non-Thesist Agnostic would love to get in contact with the big guy upstairs, as I’ve got a few questions to ask him about his managerial abilities let me tell you! The service I attended was a midnight mass. Although it has a rather dark name, it was a dull & somber affair, considering it is in the name of our so-called savior who died for the sins of all mankind! You’d think they could have put on a bit more of a festive air to thank this man!

After we had all had our fill of Sunday Roast, stuffed to the gills with mince pies, chocolate, cheese, sprouts, puddings, custard and the rest of the trimmings in abundance, we all loll around for the rest of the day feeling like a foi grais goose. Then there are the Sunday miday movies to warm the cockles of ya heart, with my favorite feel good movie, ‘My fair lady’, tell me a man on this good green earth who wouldn’t give a limb for a woman like Audrey. What a gem! Next we have ‘Howls moving castle’, my ultimate house with its mobility, talking fireplace and multi dimensional doorways. Now that’s what I want Santa, I’ll be good, I promise!

When talking to the people around me after they had their gluttonous fill. We get around to the topic of, what is it that they really want? I get the usual answers of material possessions such as cars and the like, but when asked why they want these things? You get a common theme. All people want, [and this is all over the world] can be boiled down to a few things. Health, happiness, purpose and respect. That’s it! Everything else is just trimmings and a means to get these few simple things. We all want to be healthy, that’s obvious, as without health you can’t really enjoy much if your’ crippled, have some sickness, disease or the planet is dieing. Then there is happiness.

What is happiness? Is happiness the accumulation of wealth? Most people in not only today’s society but throughout history believe it to be so. With wealth comes’ all the usual bonuses such as freedom, the beautiful woman, the admiration of others and the ability to help friends and family. Or does it?

Whenever I have had a nice car and a nice place to live my eye just wanders to something more nicer, more expensive, it’s never ending. So it stands to reason that this is not the way to happiness, it’s just yet another tread-mill. So how is happiness really bought about? For me it’s both simple yet complex. Simple things such as good company, laughter, good food, the love and a snuggle with a wonderful woman, solving problems, adventure and many other simple acts bring me a feeling of, well, happiness. It’s not the goods’, it’s the acts that give me happiness! Although a movable castle with Audrey toaccompany me wouldn’t be sniffed at! So that’s happiness. What about purpose?

Most people’s purpose is to make sure their kids do better than themselves, so that is an easy one for the majority. But what about people like myself? Who don’t feel the need to breed, and think that their sexual organs are purely for pleasure and making a mess? It’s not that I don’t like kids, it’s just I see too many unfortunates around the world and the idea of picking up a stray or two is much more appealing to me. So, what is my purpose upon this Earth? I’m afraid, this is something I am yet to find an answer to. So what about respect then?

I think most people get respect, envy and admiration all mixed up. Respect is the stuff you get from people who don’t want anything from you, who come around or call just for the sake of calling, for a chat, and will not be offended if you say ‘Sorry I just need some time away.’ Admiration is appreciation of a job well done. Yes I admire people such as Brunell or a concert pianist, but it is often the simple jobs that bring the most admiration. I remember watching a cleaner whistling a tune polishing the floor at a train station taking rather particular care, he gave me the feeling of admiration. You see admiration is a gift we give others, we get it from others and we give it too others. You can’t give it to yourself. Where as envy, [This is a strange one tome] is other people, wanting what you have or to be you, or you wanting what they have or to be them, which is just plain silly really! When I think about it, there is not much that I want that someone else has or someone else I want to be. I want to be original in my thoughts and ideas, to follow my own path, find my own maturity and become a totally original being, a one off. Wanting to be someone else is really daft, as it has already been done, the job is taken, and you’ll just end up looking a wannabe. Respect is being your-self, doing what you want or need to do and being left alone, and/or being helped to do it.

So there you have it, I know what it is that I want and already have most of it except for the moving castle, Audrey and purpose. So I have a bit still to do considering Audrey is now dead, Howl’s moving castle is an animation and purpose is something that I will never know until it hits me in the face, so is pointless looking for it.

Hmmmmm, what shall one do hey?

Anyways just a thought.

You gotta love Darwin!

Northern Pigeons, jet noise & Captain bloody Cook!

So after a rather eventful drive north we finally reach Darwin. Now Darwin is a remarkable town, that I call proper Australia. When we reached there the weather was at 38ºC at 90% humidity, you had to chew the air before you breathed. Our first stop after driving around town for a while was Howard springs. Like English towns like Bath and Epsom, Howard springs has laid claim to curing quite a few sick people with its supposed healing qualities. To us, it is a lovely local swimming hole rich in wildlife with an abundance of Geckos, Goannas and those dirty looking white Jabirus, pigeons of the north I call them, they are all over the place. In the hot sweaty conditions the place was perfect for cooling off, having a barby, and sinking a few cans. Unfortunately you cannot camp there so we headed back into town to Mindle beach markets after the place had closed.

Mindle beach sunset markets are the meeting place for all the travelers. You will find literally hundreds of campervans and converted busses at these markets with all kinds of buskers, street performers and food stalls selling everything from sugarcane juice, [delicious and as the sugar is raw it still has an enzyme in it that protects your teeth and releases it’s energy slowly, they should sell it in supermarkets] the best Thai takeaway ever, with my favorite, Thai king prawn green curry, prawns as big as a grown mans thumb! The most amusing though was, Outback Jacks Road-kill Grill. You kill em,’ we grill em.’ The name says it all! Then we all sat on a beach which you couldn’t swim in due to a box jellyfish infestation and watched the sun go down drinking beer and smoking joints, it was beautiful. The sunset, not the jellyfish!

As usual in Australia the wildlife can invent new and agonizing ways of killing you and the Box Jelly fish comes right along side the stone fish on the agony scale. These almost invisible nastys don’t really require a poison so lethal to go about their business, and seem to have developed this toxin solely for the purpose of spite. The dreadful creatures come in the most hottest and humid time of year making cooling off in the water neigh on impossible unless you want to get yourself into a wetsuit that even covers your face, or cover yourself in petroleum jelly, neither sounded appealing to me. Anyway we had to find a place to camp.

Now there is plenty of vacant land around Darwin where you can just pull up and set up camp but we did not want to camp in some dust bowl getting smothered every night in sand flies and mosquitoes. Talking about terrible wildlife, the sand fly along with the March fly are right up there on the drive you mad scale. If you are within 5 km of the beach during sunset or rise in the first hour of either, these tiny, [you can’t see them but you can breathe them] sand flies swarm around you. You can’t escape them, they can get through fly screens they are that small. They have a habit of finding a piece of real estate, mainly human, and marking their territory in the usual manor by pissing on it. Now that thought is bad enough, having swarms of flies pissing on you but to make matters worse the piss is so irritating that it causes swellings about 5 times the size of mosquito bites and about 10 times as irritating. The March fly on the other hand, is the exact opposite. They are about 4 times the size of your usual blowy, and sound like a Chinook helicopter when they fly near you, their bite is like being stabbed with a hypodermic. They are out during the day. They take it in shifts. So we drove out of town for a bit near the Industrial estate and found a few tracks. Fortunately, we took the right path for once.

We found a camping spot behind the Girls Collage with a spring fed dam, a rope swing and enough shade to park under and sit around in all day. This will do just fine. The security guard from the school came down and told us as long as we stay away from the collage and report anything suss, we can camp there. Sweet! After lazing about drinking beer, smoking weed and a couple of E’s for a few weeks, we ran out of money, so it was time to get back to work.
I eventually get work with a road laying company, driving various types of machines and laying hot mix, which was no fun I can tell you. We often had to go to some dusty godforsaken stretch of road and lay hot mix. Now it is called hot mix for a reason, you get bitumen which is ⅓ bitumen, ⅓ kerosene and ⅓ sump oil with powdered rubber and lime added, heated up to about 180ºC and mixed with an aggregate in a giant superheated drum roller. My god the smell! By the time the hot mix was to be laid and worked, it had cooled down to a pleasant 85ºC. So effectively you are working in conditions that are inhumane to say the least. 35ºC direct sun on your back, 85ºC hot mix in your face with a sometimes 100% humidity, and constantly bent over. We drank at least 10 liters of iced water per day, easily. No wonder we got paid so much. All this heat gets to some people, and go troppo, a kind of heat induced nervous break down. If you don’t drink enough water, you can develop Gall stones, we had one bloke pass one on the side of the road, and judging by the look on his now purple face, and his rather loud screams, it didn’t look too pleasant. He also wasn’t impressed by the un-relenting and merciless March flies either.

Our next job was at Jabiru in Arnham land. What a crazy place that was!
Jabiru is the main town inside Arnham land. Named after those filthy pigeon like things I had mentioned before. It is a mining town where the workers from the Ranger Uranium mine live, inside the world’s largest indigenous reserve. We were living in an outpost which was made up of two storey A frame huts, with a few dongas for catering and storage etc. We lived there for two months building the ‘Yellow cake road’ the people that live out here are a hardy bunch to say the least.

Now fishing here is highly illegal so I can’t say that we partook in any of this pleasant activity in these gorgeous surroundings. But the size of the Barramundi that just miraculously, jumped into our boats, were enormous! They are apparently rather tasty with a bit of butter and garlic.
Some of the local indigenous population took to robbing the huts when we were all at work. The way they went about it, was to climb up upon the air-conditioners and break in through the top floor windows. What a few of the guys did was to set rabbit traps and glue razors on there to discourage them from this. It didn’t work, so what we ended up doing was just locking up all the valuables and ‘tea’ in the dongas while we were working.

One night after work we were sitting around drinking ‘tea’ as alcohol is illegal here outside of the confines of Jabiru, when the aborigines started fighting outside our camp. Being blokes, half cut on ‘tea’ we went over to see the ruckus. Two groups of about 20 aborigines a side were fully swinging into each other with a variety of hand held weapons such as clubs and spears. In the ensuing melee, one guy got speared in the leg and another 3 knocked out cold. I must admit, we found it all to be hilarious.

I’m the kind of guy who when in a strange land, I often like to go for a walk and take a look at the place for myself, as I find other people distracting and I miss too much. Upon one of my walks I came across a group of about 20 - 30 aborigines playing a card game called ‘Picaring’ or something like that. Where huge amounts, well, thousands of dollars changes hands rapidly. When I approach, I get a few nasty baleful looks from eyes filled with hate, but almost immediately I am ignored. Now all the money for this game comes from mining rights, and the locals don’t seem to have realized the value of it, they treat it like monopoly money. There were women walking around with money stuffed in their tops and one approached me with a couple of hundred, a face like a bag of smashed crabs, and her front teeth knocked out and asked, “Kishhhh me like a moovy shtar!” upon which I refused her kind offer where she replied “Go ‘n’ shuck ya own dick den!” Where if I could, it would have been more preferable. You gotta love Darwin! After we finished the ‘yellow cake road’ it was time for the next job. Tindal air force base.

Tindal is a joint Australian / American air force base with lots of sexy equipment flying about. After a long day laying hot mix, waiting for the engineer to get back to us with the results and riding around the surrounding bush land on motorbikes, we used to sit back with a few bevies and watch these magnificent pieces of engineering take off and land. We set up our observation post about 50 – 60 meters from their take off point. I loved the roar when they took off and flew low overhead, the sound was as if they were ripping the sky apart, utterly thrilling! When they hit their after-burners upon take off, the jets had a tail of like, blue diamonds of pure energy behind them, gorgeous!

Now there’s a movement in Darwin trying to stop the jets flying low over Darwin, but Darwin is the sort of town that loves this sort of thing. I had a sticker as did many others on the back of my car that said “I love jet noise” to counteract all the moaners with their “Stop the racket” and “Go away, USA” stickers going about. I used to love sitting on my porch, seeing and hearing these demons of the sky rip the heavens asunder. I loved it! I hope the goodie-goodies haven’t won like they have everywhere else. I mean no one was injured when the jet dropped its dummy missile upon that Landcruiser, he was in the pub! He now uses it for a letterbox! He still loves jet noise. You gotta love Darwin!

On our way home we stopped of at the Berrimah Hotel for a few drinks and half of us ended up staying the night in this place of out-and-out mayhem. Berrimah hotel is run by the Hells Angels, and what goes on in and outside of there is beyond even Hollywood. We were watching a band which I think was called “Matt Taylor & Chain.” Which were awesome in their own right, but the bar was filled with bikers having a ball fighting, topless women, mechanical bull riding and they were bringing their bikes in doing burn outs and dounuts. You gotta love Darwin!
We get back and there is no more work for a few weeks so we decide to go on a sailing trip to Groote Eyeland. Now this would have been rather pleasurable if we had been on a seaworthy boat with a seaworthy captain, but unfortunately, neither, was not to be so. The captain at hand bought this trailer sailor cheap, as a fixer upper, which would have been alright if he had been a marine carpenter. He wasn’t. I also should have realized when I saw the boat. An un-painted 24 ft Sonata and looking a bit worse for the wear to say the least, he just fobbed of my concerns. I also should have realized when we get to the bay if he had checked the tide times, of course, he hadn’t even checked the weather. Now to let you know how dangerous that is, Darwin’s weather system is sub-equatorial. It was now the wet season, cyclone season, which happen every year but one hits Darwin about every three years or so, one hadn’t for about four.

I also should have realized when we get there and the mast and keel kept getting stuck and we were a few guide ropes short. I also should have realized when the only supplies we were taking were 6 slabs of VB, I didn’t. I definitely should have realized when I asked him about the outboard motor, he replied “Captain bloody Cook never had an outboard, she’ll be apples, no dramas!” We weren’t. Luckily enough though, we only got across to the other side of the bay, partly because that’s the way the wind was blowing us, as we couldn’t tack, partly because there weren’t enough guide ropes to set sail properly, and partly as he had just so kindly informed me, this was the first time he has ever been sailing!

We drift over to the mangroves and the keel gets all tangled up and the bloody thing jams. Of course, we would have been sweet if we had a frigging outboard! But Captain bloody Cook here couldn’t see that. Then it starts to get worse. The tide goes out. Now we are stuck, tangled in mangroves and now on a 45º angle. Then it gets worse. We jump out of the boat with our only tools, a wheel brace, for some weird reason, and a few scrapers and try to hack at the mangroves entangling us, thigh deep in stinking fetid mud. Then it gets worse. A crocodile takes an interest in us, we see his eyes bob up and down in a frighteningly short distance away sussing us out. So we end up back in the boat, by this time rolling drunk throwing empty cans at the crock. I keep the wheel brace close, Captain Cook just didn’t care. Then it got worse. The sun went down. Now as I have explained to you before if you are within 5 km from the beach at sundown or sunup, sand flies eat you alive. That is because they breed in the mangroves. It was the most miserable night of my life. These evil, vindictive little BASTARDS! I called each and every individual fucking microscopic one of them that personally! There were swarms of them, clouds of the tiny, little, invertebrate shits crawling up my nose and ears marking their territory by pissing in every orifice, crack and crevice, some I didn’t even know I had. It was the most frustrating time of my life. Now there are two ways to avoid all this suffering 1: Insect repellent only lessens them but of course, we had none of that or 2: Roll in the mud making a layer they can’t penetrate. Unfortunately, our friend the crock eyeing us up from the water put an end to that idea. Even drinking the warm beer we had was bad, as the little CUNTS! would just end up pissing on your tongue and lips.

By the time the tide came in and we got back home I was red as a cooked lobster, with odd shaped white blotches all over me, and swollen twice the size. When I walked in the door my girlfriend couldn’t stop laughing, she thought it was hilarious and started telling stories that sounded like heaven. Sitting in the air-con, drinking wine, a Jacuzzi, then a movie. So that’s what we did.

It was now fully into the wet, and as I told you before, Darwin was due a cyclone. She came. They always give cyclones female names for some odd reason, why not cyclone Steve? Anyways, this one was called Rachel. Darwinians don’t understand when they watch the news in the states and see people leaving the area en-mass, when a hurricane comes their way. In Darwin, since Tracy in 74, all buildings had to be made to cyclone code, which is the reason why houses cost so much there, there is twice as much building materials. Rachel came with the usual warnings on the telly but the peoples were in a rather festive mood. You see, here, a cyclone means a few days off work locked in a house playing with family and friends. The supermarkets and bottle-shops are packed with people stocking up on supplies for the cyclone party. Ya gotta love Darwin!

When Rachel came knocking, we were all looking forward to the event sitting outside until it got too breezy and we head indoors. Annoyingly, it was a non-event. We were sitting on the porch getting buffeted around a bit watching the palm trees go bald when it all just fizzled out. Rather disappointingly. After cleaning up the yard and the Jacuzzi we all just settled into our regular routine. Considering it had been a few months now since I had any work our finances were becoming a little stretched. Time to get back to work.

We got work at a Mango farm in Humpty Doo, about a 100 clicks south, it had the nickname of Acacia hells, as it was apparently run by a German woman who made Mengler look like a saint. I just had to meet her. We get there and are shown to our quarters which were a comfortable 3 bedroom house converted with bunk beds and hammocks to suit its needs. So far so good. For the first night we sat around drinking beer, talking with the residence, watching the Geckos crawl around the walls and ceiling and generally had a good time meeting the folks that work there and just sitting under the ceiling fans staying cool. The next day we had to start work.
Now those of you who have worked in this climate before will know it is hard yakka at the best of times, with the oppressive heat and humidity. Fortunately we were far enough in land to not have to worry about sand flies which was a blessed relief, the irrepressible Chinook type march flies were still around though. If the heat, humidity and March flies weren’t enough there were also a new contender in the drive you mad scale, the green ants.

Green ants are a very attractive looking ant, with their bejeweled bodies and leafy nests. They have very lustrous emerald green abdomens and bright gold legs and body, they even have the added bonus the aborigines use, that if you grab a whole nest and crush it in water, squashing as many as you can, you get a nice refreshing lemony-eucalypty type drink which is loaded in vitamin C. Will cure any cold or flu. When we tried it, it was surprisingly nice, if you don’t mind a few squashed ants floating about your glass. Disappointingly though, with all their beauty, all their industrious little leafy nest building, all their beneficial pharmaceutical qualities. I hate the little creatures. For they have a terrible bite, not nasty or poisonous, just annoying on top of everything else.

Another thing to make this activity even more enjoyable are the mangos themselves, when picked, leak an acidic milky sap which is rather irritating. Some of the good ones squirt out this milky white sap like a money shot from a quality porn film, which bought many a giggle from both men and women. It stained our clothes terribly. The way to stop the sap from burning our skin and the fruit itself was to wash them in an alkaline wash made from your average laundry detergent which also irritated, burned and dried out our skin. So with all the heat, humidity, March flies, green ants, alkaline wash and money shot mangos, there was one more factor to make this just so much more enjoyable, the most annoying, ugly, harsh, unforgiving thing of all. Fraudeline Goring.

This evil cow was most definitely a lesbian, she was as big as me, looked like me, stronger than me, and she took an instant dislike to me, much to my amusement. She used to push people to breaking point with her lack of humor, Germanic way, unbelievable temper and gave off a general feel of ill will. I wouldn’t have it. After you have been picking for 5 hours or so, people would generally get a bit lapse upon the way they handled the fruit, so fraudeline would be driving around in her Landcruiser and stop a few rows down and sneak up behind people and wait until they made a mistake and then literally scream at the top of her ample lungs, scaring the bejesus and intimidating the workers. I thought she was hilarious, she didn’t think the same about me unfortunately for her.

She tried her little trick on me getting in extra close and extra loud, spraying spittle in my face just as I was picking a mango. In the shock, I just spun around and the money shot went straight into her face. HA! Everyone else was sniggering into their sleeves, but not me, I was bellowing with laughter yelling “Hitler just got a facial, IN YOUR FACE YOU LESBIAN NAZI COW!” While she was washing her eyes out with soapy water she was defenseless, screaming incoherently while I was seig hailing and singing the English football chants the English had taught us all like “Two world wars and one world cup Ohhhh Ohhhh, Ohhhh Ohhhh!” Which she did not find amusing, although I did, immensely. None to say, I got the sack.

We had to head back to Darwin to find some more work. Luckily, lady luck was smiling upon us still, we found some work in a place called Dundee west of Darwin across the Alligator River. I don’t know why they call it the Alligator river since it is filled with crocks, anyways.
On the way there we had to drive past Acacia hells where we poached half of freudelines staff and headed to Dundee passing Litchfield national park, which is a stunning place to spend a week or so, but unfortunately, we could only spend the day and night there. Litchfield is full of waterfalls, swimming holes and outstanding natural beauty. This place although much smaller than Arnham land it is much more accessible and compact. We spent our time lazing about getting a well earned massage from the waterfalls then it was off to Dundee.

Dundee was a one shop town which was a pub, fuel station, supply depot and post office all rolled into one. We meet our new boss who was an amusing fellow, if a bit eccentric, who was very pleased with me for bringing so many girls into this outback town, 5 girls, two were lesbian, and 3 blokes. The girls I was later to find out may not have been a good idea. We get to our new camping spot which was on the Alligator River near a pumping station supplying us with pressurized water to play with, as we could not swim there for the crocks. It was a beautiful place and the fellow left us with a 12 gauge shotgun for protection in case something tried to have a snack. It wasn’t only the crocks we had to worry about there was also wild pigs, dingoes and a dozen or so species of snake to fret about.

After work we used to go down to the local for a drink or twenty, and the place had about 10 locals drinking there. There were 3 on the first night but as soon as word got out that some ‘shielas’ had turned up it tripled in size. The publicans were a strange lot, the woman behind the bar was immense, she used to give you a look of sheer disdane every time you made her get up to serve you, inevitably, we made a game of this.

After a few drinks the locals started to get a bit more predatory toward the girls and started trying to herd them away from us. Time to go. One of our group got into a fight with one in their group and luckily enough the girls were smart enough and put a stop to it. Smart girls. From now on we got takeaways.

After we had finished picking the crop, our boss decided to take us out camping, one of his boys, his name was ninety, don’t know why, came along with us. We drove along in the Hilux and the Landbruiser for a couple of hours through a stunning, savannah type landscape with termite mounds dotted everywhere when we came to a lake. We get out the shotguns and got ourselves 3 geese [I got one of them] and 5 ducks. A good haul and great fun. We put the tinny back on the roof and go to our camping spot about a ½ hour drive away.

On the way there we come across some wild pigs and he sets the dogs onto them [2 English Bullterriers] and gives me a great bloody knife and tells me to finish it off. Now I have worked in abattoirs before, but have never killed anything bigger than a rabbit in this way.
The dogs start barking and flushed out a sow and she comes running straight toward me with a dog on each ear. I swear she knew she was dead and was trying to take me with her, she had a savage look in her eye. The way to deal with four legged animals when they charge you is to side step as they can’t do that. I knew this and have done it before, but when a 120 kg angry sow was charging at me, I just froze and she knocked me down and I end up in a tangle with 1 upset sow and 2 excited Bull terriers, what a melee. Finally I get on top of her and slide the blade into her heart and she dies. She really put up a fight the old girl.

Now the whole pig was too much for us to eat unfortunately, so we took only the back legs, the fillets and the back straps. While we were stringing her up I was bragging and showing off to the girls saying how it takes a man to do a man’s job like killing and general blood and guts. While one of the other guys was cutting it up, the smallest and petitest of the girls reaches into the chest cavity and rips out its still warm heart and takes a bite. We were stunned, I was impressed. We get back to our camp we had a good few days of eating, drinking, swimming in the waterfall [crocks don’t like waterfalls] fishing and campfires before we head back to Darwin. You gotta love Darwin!

Growing up is fun !

Combine harvesters and experimental rocketry.

Being unpopular with parents as a kid always baffled me, whom ever my mate at the time was, their parents seemed to think of me as a bad influence, right from the start.

When I as about 10 yrs old I couldn’t wait to get out on my bike be it my Roadmaster 3 speed dragster or the B.M.X that I bought of a friend for $20, that was stolen, both the money and the bike. I saw no problem about turning up to Simon’s place at 6:30am on a Sunday to start our day but it peeved his parents of no end.

The imaginative ways Derek and I made money also irked both his and my parents, putting on our scout uniforms and pretending to collect bottles for them and cashing them in ourselves was a favorite. Industrious thinking I thought. Selling fags to the other kids, which we stole of Clyde’s parents whom just got back from England, selling the wagon wheels that Bradley and I stole from the pony club and many various other ways I wish not to mention in writing. And although I got Scott into a lot of trouble at school by doing things like, filling the fish tank with jelly crystals to see if they could still swim - I call this, ‘Great moments in science’, or having flame sword fights with the hoses of Bunsen burners - once again, science, another favorite that always bought howls of laughter was cutting the bottom out of other kids school bags and watching them pick it up, hilarious, and so much more fun games and camaraderie. His mum she just constantly seemed peeved that I was there before he done his chores. Which bemused me, as I was willing to help him along his merry way.

When we had to clean his fathers shed, we found some unused 12 gauge shotgun cartridges, with the help of a vice and a 4” nail, we increased the light and ventilation in the shed considerably, although it must be said, the neighbors looked a bit shocked as they peered over the fence. Oh and then she was appalled to catch us seeing if a lizard could outrun a lawnmower.
Sadly my friendship with Scott had to end, not as a result of his parents keeping him away from me, but rather my parents keeping me away from him. We moved to Anakie.

Again the long exciting road of unpopularity with parents continued unabated. Ok yes it was my idea to un-chock the old combine harvester on the hill, and watch it roll into the dam while Julian was paddling around in a foam fruit box. We were laughing like Hyenas for weeks! I still get a tear in my eye now. Yes it was my idea to tell the weird kid on O’Neil’s lane that to impress Mr Clipperton. ‘You have to show him some initiative, just jump in his truck and start it, he will be most impressed with your enthusiasm.’ Suprisingly, He wasn’t. Yes it was my idea that Lee could out run the cops on his XT 250 with me on the back. He couldn’t. Yes it was my idea to see if the asbestos porta cabin could burn. To my utter astonishment it could, quite well in fact! Yes it was my idea for Linden to piss on the electric fence. I couldn’t believe he actually did it! I told him his shoes would stop him earthing. That was so funny! The look on his face and the noise he made, Oooooom. I still get a chuckle from that one! Yes it was my idea to solder the safety valve shut on Moggies steam engine to make it go faster. It really did, for a while anyways. And yes I crashed his mum’s car and straight after she got it fixed, he thought he’d have a go, and tried rather persistantly to drive it through some trees. Yes it was me who discovered how to make chlorine bombs. So, yes there is a long list and an even longer list to go but I don’t want to incriminate myself any further and my ribs ache too much.

I see all this as the beginnings of a long and prosperous career in leadership, poor leadership maybe, but leadership none the less. I couldn’t possibly be any worse than the ones we have today! And it was so much fun to boot. Which is what these parents just don’t understand. I shall explain further.

You see, it’s kids like me, little horrors that we are, that make childhood fun, we get their kids away from in front of the Atari and start doing constructive, or I’ll admit, destructive pursuits. Because it was also me that started to construct things like the impossibly high tree house, dam the creek at Rowds or getting old machinery started and various other educational life skills that might inspire them to do something better than be a salesman in Dick Smiths.

So can you see it now? If your kids are hanging around a part time arsonist, front wheel nut loosening type of guy whom enjoys fixing fireworks to airfix models and scaring cats, don’t despair. He might end up an astronaught, an engineer, or in jail.

Life is a gamble hey.

Theres a lot of middle here!

Opals, kombi vans and camels.

Anyone who as traveled up through the centre of Australia will know that the scenery can be both stunning and spectacular, in pockets, if you know where to look. Typically, it’s rather bleak. People prefer to live underground mostly. Bleak, harsh and un-forgiving, almost cruel in a way that only mother-nature can be. This land is dead flat, so flat in fact that in most places you can see the curvature of the earth with nothing to interrupt the view except heat shimmer. Temperatures of around 50ºC during the day scorch the earth, man, beast and machine. Where 90% of all the wildlife either wants to kill you, bite you, sting you, or if your’ more unfortunate than some, just drive you mad! Although all of this may make you want to pack your bags in this green and pleasant land of England and move over there, I must also inform you that there aint much to do there besides mine opals and drive road trains.

Opals are supposedly a symbol of bad luck in some medieval societies, unless you are Chinese where they become a symbol for good luck surprisingly! The unfounded and unfortunate stigma of bad luck actually came from works of fiction and historic people like the Empress Josephine। The whole opal mining business is full of good and bad luck stories that I can tell you at some other time। What I really want to talk to you about is about some of the locals, the indigenous locals। Fun folk they are।

There are a lot of tails about the shenanigans of the locals round these parts, although all amusing, I found most to be a bit far fetched. Well I did until now! My favorite tale was of a family of aborigines whom are parked on the side of the road with the car filled with about 9 dogs and 6 kids and with the bonnet up they try and flag down passing motorists [they have a 6th sense to spot tourists] to give them a tow just a little up the road to the next town. As anyone who lives in Australia knows, a little up the road is about the equivalent to, from London to Leeds, about 600 km. When they finally get to this town, which aint a town, it’s a turn off in the middle of no-where, they have to be towed a further 200 km down a gravel road, full of bull-dust and corrugations, to an Aboriginal community, usually called something like Ullammekarathemalinadika pronounced amazingly somehow, in a single syllable. When they finally get there, exhausted and out of fuel, the locals get out of their 64 EJ Holden Station wagon or something of that vintage, when the tourist with his big heart asks the bloke if he can have a look at his car to fix if for him. The aboriginal fellow replies ‘No worries brudda, she aint got no engine.’ Opens the bonnet and three more kids jump out!

If any of you have seen the telly series called ‘Bush mechanics’ you will see that this story isn’t to far fetched. I recommend it. I haven’t laughed so hard in ages! But I want to tell you about my personal encounter.

Adelaide being the boring little hovel that it is, my girl and I decided to go up north to Darwin for the winter [Darwin, what a town!] We load up the VW Kombi and headed out on the only road north. The drive was quite interesting, we went to Maralinga, the old nuclear test sight hoping to see the giant glass pans [another urban myth maybe], Flinders ranges and Cooper peedy. Now I could write another chapter on C.P alone, what a bizarre town! Anyways.We were driving past C.P at about 4:00 pm as we had a big drink up at C.P the night before, and to avoid a hangover we kept drinking, as you do. The road north is almost dead straight for thousands of kilometers, there is no speed limit, there are 100 meter long road trains and variant life forms much bigger than your domestic cat to smash your car into. So drink driving may not have been my wisest idea to date. But it was my funest!

We had been driving for about 2 hours when we saw a car broken down on the side of the road with some aborigines milling about, and since we were quite pleasantly drunk and stoned we decided to stop and give them a hand. The vehicle was a 71 Holden HQ station wagon. The HQ was the biggest car Holden had ever produced, big enough to seat 6 adults reasonably comfortably. Unfortunately it wasn’t designed to hold 6 adults with 4 kids and 5 dogs. When I had a look in the car it also had 2, 100 liters drums of fuel with no lids on, for front seats! And a fair bit had been sloshed around the cab, enough to make me gag and whip my head out sharpish anyways. When I went under the bonnet for a look I just could not believe what I was seeing, the state of this engine was appalling, and hardly the sort of vehicle you’d embark upon an Australian outback odyssey in. I had to try and get it sorted anyways.

After 4 hours of drinking, mechanics, laughing and smoking weed, a broken manifold, a battery balancing on its edge and a home made earth lead. Finally I get the old girl going with a cough, puff and a wheeze, and the whole crew just jumps in and takes off without a word of thanks! My girl and I were in stitches of laughter for a good ½ hour before we set off. By now it was dark, and as anyone in outback Australia knows. Only dickheads and road-trains drive at night. Unfortunately, I was made in the former category.

We were heading up when we see this bright red light in the middle of the road and then it just disappeared, we looked at each other thinking ‘what-the-fuck-was-that?’ when it suddenly appeared again for a minute or two and then disappeared again. This happened again and again for about an hour, we didn’t have a clue what it was, then again, we were quite drunk and stoned by this point, ‘hammered’, is probably the more accurate term. We kept driving and as we got closer to the source of the light we realized what it was, it was the Aborigines with their faulty earth lead, densely over populated vehicle that was filled with open petrol drums. Oh my god! They were swaying all over the road with one flat front tyre! We couldn’t stop laughing! Again.
Finally we overtake them and we are looking in the rear view mirrors at the headlight, singular, going on, off, on, off amazed how these people would drive such a vehicle with their kids and laughed for a good 10 minutes, when we almost hit a herd of camels as we were laughing so much, and so drunk, and so stoned.

We hit the brakes in an orchestra of screeching and billows of blue smoke। That sobered us up I’ll tell you! We edge our way through the herd and drive off. It wasn’t 5 min when we realized that that car load of people were about to run into the same herd, with a flat front tyre, no headlights, 200 liters of fuel and 10 people and a pack of wild dogs!

And you know what, they would survive, butcher the camel they killed, throw it on the roof and have a party when they get where their going.

Unbelievable! What an amusing people!

Girls, Quarter horses & Gravel rash !

The Problem With Women Is -

Why is it when us blokes are alone, practicing whatever it is we do in our playtime, do things seem to work out better for us men? We never seem to fall of, get lost, crash or generally make fools of ourselves. But the moment you bring a woman into the picture, especially a pretty one, it all goes pear shape sharpish.I can only speak for myself, from my own experiences and from what I have been fortunate enough to witness. So lets take me for example.

Whilst learning to ride a horse from the people up the road, they had a rather comely daughter. She insisted in putting me upon a Quarter horse in the corral leading me around with a lead reign, at a trot.Now those of you who have had the good fortune to learn how to ride will know that the trot is rather uncomfortable until you get the rise right, especially if you have your twig and berries in the wrong position. As usual though, I wasn’t interested in learning to rise, I wanted to learn to gallop.

So when I was supposed to take my horse back to the stables to un-saddle and brush down, I in my finite wisdom, I decided to take the beast for a little stretch. Not only did the horse ‘Flash’ was his name, get a stretch but so did my imagination upon my abilities. You see they call a Quarter horse a Quarter horse for a reason. As it is the fastest of the equine species over the quarter mile. And they called Flash, Flash, for a reason. As he was fast for his breed, with me on top, this was an accident waiting to happen. And happen it did.

I swing myself into the saddle and dig my heels in straight away. This preposterous beast, weighing neigh on a tonne, was at full gallop in three strides. I have vivid yet vague memories of the Australian countryside flying by at warp speed and the 6th sense that this vile monster, Flash, was actually enjoying himself! The loathsome creature he was. Then as suddenly as it began, I was sprawled out upon the grass.

The comely creature that I was trying to impress couldn’t stop laughing, and Flash came trotting back looking as scared as me. He actually had the audacity to come back to me, with a look on his long striped face like ‘What did you do that for?’ The look on my face said ‘I didn’t, you did’ as it was obviously his fault, stupid beast. The comely country girl broke into giggles nearly every time I saw her for a long while, actually, if I went to see her today, I have no doubt in my mind that she would crack up again. Oh dear me !

What is it that makes riding a horse so exciting? I mean at full stretch Flash could probably top about 60 km/h, if he’s lucky. Yet I have driven cars at speeds of 280 km/h way above their design limits and felt completely safe. I even lost control of a 5.0 liter 74 Monaro GTS at that speed on a bend, had two tires blow out and hit a storm water drain, and found it almost relaxing. Put me on a horse at 60, and my pants start to go lumpy and smell funny.

What I think it is, is that whilst in the Munro, it has wheels, and I’m in control, yet on Flash, he’s just a tangle of legs and it’s him that has all the power, and him that’s enjoying himself. Although I haven’t had the opportunity to get back in the saddle for quite sometime I do miss the feeling of a horse at full stretch, especially in the sand, when this majestic and noble beast can give no more. What a thrill!

Ok let’s see if I can embarrass myself some more then hey. Oh that's easy!

Although I spent some time on the back of a horse I spent most of my time on the back of a bike, an 83 Honda XR 350 RD amongst others, another noble and majestic beast. My friends and I used to explore huge tracts of country, through all kinds of terrain, in all kinds of weather and rarely come off. I could ride on the back wheel for hundreds of meters with the sun in my face and the wind in my hair without a problem. That is, until a pretty girl turns up. For starters riding a motor bike in shorts and a t-shirt aint the most intelligent thing that I have done, it’s like wearing a seat belt, you don’t seem to have an accident until you’re not wearing one, and this time I wasn’t.

After a full day of riding around pretty much uneventfully I decide to test my skills in front of another rather comely creature. I get on the back wheel and I’m in about 4th gear doing about 60 km/h [full gallop in horse terms, again] when I hit something I didn’t see. [Because I was to busy looking at the her, to see if she, was looking at me!] where I cartwheel over the handlebars and proceed to body surf down the gravel, rapidly removing all my skin and some flesh on 1 leg, 2 buttocks, 1 arm and ½ a face. I also suffered various scratches, bruises and wounds all over. Ouch! And the bike didn’t even trot back to see if I was alright! And the girl didn’t come running and giggling, she was white with fear and shock. I still had to ride my bike home which was the most painful experience of my life. It took about an hour, then an hour to the hospital in the car where I had to peel myself off the vinyl seat, then an hour of the scrubbing brush to remove all the gravel. Not the best day of my life to be honestly said.

I blame all this pain and suffering upon those pretty girls that so obviously caused those accidents. If they hadn’t been there, I would not have been so daring, and stupid. Hence would have still had the skin on my arse.
So have a little think guys. How have those evil women embarrassed you in the past, and would you do it again. I would. Viva la diffrance.

A bit thirsty downunder !

Do you know what the problem with the Hoover Dam is ?

Its just way too small!

Well it looks like Australia has once again started its mass migration scheme, soon there will be another 100,000 or so British flying over to start a new life and a good life it is. As-well as the cheap housing, good weather, better working conditions and the abundance of things for kids to do, there is also so much potential for the country. As yet, un-realized by its people, and leaders. Australia has one massive problem that will not go away and one day be its downfall if people aren’t careful. That is, water.

What some people don’t realize is that Australia is dangerously teetering on the edge of ecological disaster, that would make cane toads, rabbits and European carp combined look trivial. The Murray-Darling System, Australias largest river system is at breaking point, and that feeds three states with water. Just ask any Sth Australian what their tap water is like. In some parts if you run a bath it's the color of rust, and un-filtered hot water systems don’t last long neither. Sth Australia is the only place in the developed world where ships refuse to take on water. They wait until they get to Africa or the America’s. The problem is, although Australia has a tiny population on a huge continent (there are more people in the M25 of London and it’s as big as the mainland of the USA) it has minimal rainfall in the south. Which is a problem, but it can be solved.

We have all heard the debate about re-cycling water and the people who have no idea saying “I for one will not drink someone-else’s piss” Which is a load of tripe. There is no such thing as un-used water on the planet. Even the bluest ice-burg from Antarctica, frozen for 30,000 years has been through countless T-Rexes backsides and probably been peed out by several of our Neanderthal cousins. Water is constantly re-cycled, it’s a part of the cycle of life. The cleanest water on the planet is distilled water, which is an industrial process. Making pure, H²O.
As so many Australian who have traveled have seen, there is nothing wrong with re-cycled water, I would gladly drink some London water right now if I was there. Now that they have sorted all the problems out such as estrogen. Or there is another way.

We could tap the Great Artesian Basin which I for one think would be foolish and short sighted for we don’t know how long it would take to re-fill once emptied and a few ecological reasons. I think it should be left alone, for emergencies maybe. Or there is an even better way, a more constructive way.

We have all seen Las-Vegas in the states. It is fed water from the giant Hoover dam. We have done the same thing in Australia, Lake Argyle. Lake Argyle is a man made lake designed to open Australia’s top end but as usual in Australia it never happened. We built the dam, got the lake and then decided to go home, how bloody Australian. You see in the North we have monsoonal rains that you can set your watch by that could fill thousands of similar, even bigger projects. Then we could pipe it anywhere we need it. Make Alice Springs into the city of Alice Springs and leave the springs alone for nature to take her drink. That is one of things Australia really needs, more water, and we can do it. But will we? We will probably do the usual Australian thing and wait till the last minute and do to little to late. I for one would love to be able to drive across the top end and see thriving communities with trees, parkland, swimming lakes and industry that would pay for everything in the long run, instead of little starving dust bowls of settlements that cant support themselves let alone expand. The problem with Australia is the same as the problem with the rest of the world. Poor leadership with little vision.
Australia could be an even more amazing and prosperous country with a bit of vision. I see an Australia that is much more abundant and beautiful that could comfortably hold 10 times its current population and wealth.

Let’s see which comes first, the death of the Murray, or the start of the dams.